The Impecunious
by FinnickOdairLives
Summary: Katniss Everdeen is a witch, descendant of Salem. When her younger sister Primrose Everdeen, is selected to be the female tribute of District 12, for the 74th Annual Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen volunteers in her place, thinking her unique powers could
1. The Woods

**A/N: Bonjour, and welcome to my first ****Fan Fiction****, now I am sure that at least one of you are wondering what the word impecunious means, so basically a quick translation, it means poor. *sighs* I've literally named my story poor :/ Oh well, lets hope that it is at lest a little better than poor... ****Oh and P.S. The start of this Fan Fic might be a little bit similar to the start of The Hunger Games, but I couldn't think of any other way of doing it, but I promise by the end of this chapter things will start to get a big more original. **

**Disclaimer: I don't like doing disclaimers so this one can count for the whole story, but nope I do not own any of the characters ****that I so greatly ship with many other characters ****or any of the ideas that Suzanne Collins has so wonderfully created, and PS if I did I would be living in a mansion, not a little cottage. Anyway, on with the story ;)**

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The Impecunious

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Chapter 1 – The Woods

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My eyes begin to open, slowly taking in the harsh, blinding light that is shining through the window opposite to my bed. One of the first things I notice is that my bed is lacking it's usual heat, what's left is only the rough canvas cover of the mattress, but I know what's missing, or who for that matter, it's Prim. She must of climbed into bed with Mother. Of course she did, today is the day of the reaping, and more importantly it's Prim's first reaping.

I look down to where her feet are, and by no surprise I find the worlds ugliest cat guarding her. He has a mashed in nose, half of one ear missing and his eyes are the colour of a rotting squash. Prim named him Buttercup insisting that his muddy yellow coat matched the bright, beautiful summery flower. He hates me, and quite frankly I hate him back. Honestly I don't regret trying to drown him when Prim brought him home that one summer evening. He was a scrawny kitten, crawling with fleas, his belly was completely swollen with worms, so much so, that I remember one time he literally puked the things up. I didn't help that with _him _being here it meant that I had one more mouth to feed, but Prim begged for him to stay, so I had to agree. But it turned out OK. My mother got rid of his worms and flees, and it turns out that he's a natural a killing mice. Even the occasional rat. Sometimes when I clean a kill I feed Buttercup the entrails. He has now stopped hissing at me. But of course that is the closest we will ever come to love.

I swing my legs off the bed and slowly raise my hand to summon my hunting boots over. I know it's lazy of me to do so, and that I should get up and pick them up, but it's just so much easier when it is this early in the morning. I slip the boots on, almost sighing at the feeling of the supple leather that has moulded to the shape of my feet.

Once I am fully dressed and my hair is tied up into it's usual braid and I've made sure that I have my forage bag, I stealthy slip outside, into the coal dusted air of District 12.

Our part of District 12 is nicknamed the seam, and it is usually crawling with coal miners heading out to the mornings shift. Men and women with hunched shoulders, swollen knuckles, many of whom have stopped trying to scrub the coal dust out of their broken nails and their sunken faces. But today the cinder streets are empty. Shutters on the squat grey houses are closed. The reaping isn't until two. Might as well sleep if you can.

Our house is almost at the edge of the seam. I only have to pass a few gates to reach the scruffy field nicknamed the meadow. Enclosing District 12 and separating us from the woods is a high chain-link fence, topped with barbed wire loops. It is supposed to be electrified twenty four hours a day as a restraint to the predators that live in the woods; pack of wild dogs, bears, lone cougars – that all used to threaten our streets. But here in District 12 we would be lucky if we get two or three hours of electricity in the evenings, so the fence is usually safe to touch. Even so, I always take a moment to listen carefully for that tell tale hum that means that the fence is live. But right at this moment it's as silent as stone. Concealed by a clump of wild bushes, I flatten out onto my belly and slide under a meter-long stretch that has been loose for years. There are many other weak spots in the fence, but this one is the closest to home.

As soon as I am in the trees, I retrieve a bow and a sheath of arrows from a hollow log. Inside the woods the predators roam freely, but there are added concerns such as venomous snakes, rabid animals, and no real paths to follow, which could make it very easy to get lost. But there is also food if you know how to find it.

Even though trespassing in the woods is illegal and poaching carries one of the severest of penalties, more people would risk it if they had weapons. But most of the citizens here in District 12 are not bold enough to head out with just a knife. My bow is a rarity, crafted by my father along with a few others that I keep hidden in the woods, carefully wrapped in waterproof covers. My father could of made good money selling them, but if the officials found out he would have been publicly executed for inciting a rebellion. Most of the peacekeepers turn a blind eye to the few of us who hunt because they're as hungry for fresh meat as anybody is. In fact, they're among out best customers. But the idea that someone might be arming the Seam would never have been allowed.

In the autumn, a few brave people sneak out of the seam and into the woods to harvest apples, but they make sure that they are always in sight of the meadow, always close enough to run back to the safety of District 12 if trouble arises. "District Twelve. Where you can starve to death in safety." I quietly mutter to myself. Then I quickly glance over my shoulder. Even here, in the middle of nowhere, you worry someone might overhear you.

When I was younger, I scared my mother to death, with some of the things I would blurt out about District 12. Eventually I understood that this would lead us into trouble. So I learnt to hold my tongue and to turn my features into a mask, so that no one could ever read my thoughts. I did my work quietly in school. Make small talk in the market. Discuss little more than trades in the Hob, which is the black market, where I make most of my money from. Even at home, where I am less pleasant, I avoid discussing tricky topics. Like the reaping, or food shortages, or the Hunger Games. Prim might begin to repeat my words, and then where would we be?

In the woods I see the only person whom I can be myself. Gale Hawthorne. I can feel the muscles in my face relaxing, and my pace quickening as I climb the hills to our place, a rock ledge overlooking a valley. A thicket of berry bushes protects it from unwanted eyes. The sight of him waiting there brings a smile to my face.

"Hey, Catnip," Says Gale. My real name is Katniss, but when I first told him, I had barley whispered it. So he had thought I said Catnip. Then this crazy lynx started following me around the woods looking for handouts, it became his official nickname for me. I finally had to kill the lynx because he scarred off the game. But I got a decent price for his pelt.

"Look what I shot." Gale holds up a loaf of bread with a arrow in it, and I laugh. It's real bakery bread, not the flat dense loaves we make from our grain rations. I hold out my hands and summon it to me, making Gale laugh at the stupid reasons I use my powers for. I pull out the arrow, making it disappear back into Gales quiver, and I hold the puncture in the crust up to my nose, inhaling the fragrance that makes my mouth flood with saliva. Fine bread like this for special occasions. I almost have to hold back what would have been a very grim sounding laugh.

"Mm, still warm," I say. He must have been at the bakery at the crack of dawn to trade for it. "What did it cost you?"

"Just a squirrel, I think the boy, Peeta? Was feeling extra generous this morning," Says Gale. "He even wished me luck."

I almost say that Peeta is always generous and kind, but I decide not to. "Well we all feel a little closer today, don't we?" I say, not even bothering to roll my eyes.

He laughs, "And our hatred for the Capitol grows even stronger." He says putting a fist into the air. I just smile at him.

Suddenly he falls into a Capitol accent as he mimics Effie Trinket, the maniacally upbeat woman who arrives once a year to read out the names at the reaping. "I almost forgot! Happy Hunger Games!" He plucks a few blackberries from the bushes around us. "And may the odds-" He tosses a blackberry in a high arc towards me.

I catch it in my mouth and break the delicate skin with my teeth. The sweetness explodes across my tongue. "-be _ever_ in your favour."

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**A/N: So yeah, that was chapter one, I know that it was not really that good, and did not vary from the book in any sort of way, but I promise the next chapter defiantly will. And I should be updating again sometime this week, possibly even later on today, I don't know, we'll see. But for now, reviews are very much appreciated and so are follows and this story being added to your favourites list. In fact I might even do a review for a review, and so on. And I so greatly wished that this first chapter would be 2,000 + words, but sadly not, maybe next chapter. Any way goodbye for now. :)**

**~ Cheyenne xx**


	2. The Reaping

**A/N: Hello again, I hope you enjoyed reading the previous chapter, firstly I would like to say a big big thanks to cl0ve4ever for that nice review, and I know I havn't quite gotten into any extreme detail about Katniss' powers yet, but don't worry all of that is saved for the next chapter. Also again I would like to say that the first half of this chapter is also quite similar to the book, but the second half... Well you'll just have to read... Mwahahahaha...**

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Chapter 2 – The Reaping

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Gale could be my brother. Straight black hair, olive skin; we even have the same grey eyes. But were not related. Most of the families who work in the mines resemble one another this way.

That's why my mother and Prim, with their light hair and blue eyes, always look out of place. They are. My mothers parents were part of the small Merchant class that caters to officials, Peacekeepers and the occasional Seam customer. They ran an apothecary shop in the nicer part of District 12.

My father got to know my mother because on his hunts he would sometimes collect medicinal herbs and sell them to her shop to be brewed into remedies. She must have really loved him to leave her home for the Seam.

Gale and I settle back in a nook in the rocks. From this place we are invisible, but have a clear view of the valley, which is teaming with summer life, greens to gather, roots to dig, fish iridescent in the sunlight. The day is glorious, with a blue sky and a soft breeze. Everything would be perfect if this really was a holiday, if all the day off meant was roaming the mountains with Gale, hunting for tonight's supper. But instead we have to be standing In the square at two o'clock waiting for the names to be called out.

"We could do it you know." Gale says quietly.

"What," I ask, even though I already know the answer to my question.

"Leave the District. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it, we don't even have to bring many supplies because of your powers." Says Gale.

I don't know how to respond. The idea is so preposterous.

"That's if we didn't have so many siblings to look after." He adds quickly.

Gale has two little brothers; Rory and Vick and a little sister; Posy. And I have Prim to look after. And you might as well throw in our mothers, too, because how would they live without us? Who would fill those mouths that are always asking for more? With both of us hunting daily, there are still nights when game has to be swapped for lard or shoelaces or wool, still nights when we have to go to bed with our stomachs growling.

"I'm never having any kids." I say.

"I might, if I didn't live here." Says Gale.

"But you do." I say irritated.

"Forget it." He snaps back.

Forgetting the previous conversation I ask, "What do you want to do, we can hunt, fish or gather."

"Let's fish at the lake. We can leave our poles and gather in the woods. Get something nice for tonight," he says.

Tonight. After the reaping everyone is supposed to celebrate. And a lot of people do, out of relief that their children have been spared for another year. But at least two families will pull their shutters, look their doors, and try to figure out how they will survive the painful weeks to come.

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We do well. The predators ignore us on a day when easier, tastier prey abounds. By late morning, we have a dozen fish, a bag of greens and, best of all, a large quantity of strawberries. I found the patch a few years ago, but Gale had the idea to string mesh nets around tit to keep out that animals.

On the way home we swing my the Hob, the black market that operates in an abandoned warehouse that one held coal. When they came up with a more efficient system that transported the coal directly from the mines to the trains, the Hob gradually took over the space. Most businesses are closed this time on reaping day, but the black markets still fairly busy. We easily trade six of the fish for good bread, the other two for salt. Greasy Sae, the bony old woman who sells bowls of hot soup from a large kettle, takes half the greens off our hands in exchange for a couple chunks of paraffin. We might do a tad better elsewhere, but we make an effort to keep in good terms with Greasy Sae. She's the only one who can consistently be counted on to buy wild dog. We don't hunt them on purpose, but if you're attacked you take out a dog or two, well, meat is meat. "Once it's in the soup I'll call it beef." Greasy Sae says with a wink. No one in the Seam would turn up their nose to a good leg of wild dog, but the peacekeepers who come into the Hob can afford to be a little choosier.

Once Gale and I have finished with our stuff in the Hob, we go around to the back door of the mayors house to sell half the strawberries, knowing he has a particular fondness of them and can afford our price. The mayors daughter, Madge, opens the door. She's in my year at school. You would kind of expect her to be a snob, but she's all right. She keeps to herself. Like me. Since neither of us has many friends we tend to sit together at lunch and partnering in sports activities. We rarely talk.

Today her drab school clothes has been replaced with an expensive looking white dress, and her blonde hair is tied up with a blue ribbon. Reaping clothes.

"Cute dress." Says Gale.

Madge looks at him, trying to see if that was an actual compliment or not. She presses her lips together. "Well, if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?"

Now it's Gale's turn to be confused.

"You wont be going to the Capitol." He says coolly. He eyes land on a small circular pin that adorns her dress. Real gold. Beautifully crafted. It could keep a family in bread for months. "What can you have? Five entries? I had eight when I was just twelve years old."

"That's not her fault." I say.

"It's no ones fault, it's just the way it is." Says Gale.

Madge's face has become unreadable. She puts the money for the strawberries in my hand. "Good luck, Katniss."

"You, too." I say as the door closes.

* * *

I don't like the way Gale took a dig at Madge, but he's right. The reaping system is unfair, with the poor getting the worst of it. You become eligible for reaping the day you turn twelve. That year, your name is entered once. At thirteen twice. And so on and so on until you reach the age of eighteen, the final year of eligibility, when your name goes in the pool seven times. That's true for every citizen in all twelve Districts of Panem.

But if you're poor and starving, like Gale and I, you can opt to add your name in more times in exchange for tesserae. Each tesserae is worth a meagre year's supply of grain and oil for one person. You may do this for each of your family members as well. So at the age of 12 I had my name entered four times. One because I had to, and three times for tesserae, for grain and oil for myself, and Prim and Mother. In fact, every year I have needed to do this. And the entries are cumulative. So now at the age of sixteen my name will be in the reaping ball 20 times. Gale who is eighteen and has been wither helping or single handedly feeding a family of five for seven years, will go in the reaping ball forty-two times.

Gale and I divide our spoils, leaving two fish, a couple of loaves of good bread, greens, a few handfuls of strawberries, salt, paraffin and a bit of money for each of us.

"See you in the square," I say.

"Wear something pretty," he says flatly.

* * *

At home I find that my Mother and Sister are ready to go. My Mother wears a fine dress from her apothecary days. Prim is in my first reaping outfit, a skirt and ruffled blouse. It's a bit big on her, but my Mother has made it stay with pins. Even so. She's having trouble keeping it tucked in at the back.

A tub of warm water waits for me. I scrub of the dirt and sweat from the woods and even wash my hair. To my surprise my Mother has laid out one of her lovely dresses for me. A soft mint green thing with matching shoes.

"Are you sure?" I ask. I'm trying to get past rejecting offers of help from her. For a while I was so angry, I wouldn't allow her to do anything for me. And this is something special. Her clothes from her past are very precious to her.

"Of course. Let's put your hair up, too." She says. I let her towel dry it and braid it up on my head. I can hardly recognize myself in the cracked mirror that leans against the wall.

"You look beautiful," Says Prim in a hushed voice.

"And nothing like myself." I say. I hug her, because I know that the next few hours will be terrible for her. Her first reaping. She's about as safe as yo can get, since she's only entered once. I wouldn't let her take out any tesserae. But she's worried about me. That the unthinkable might happen.

I notice Prim's blouse is hanging out again, "lets tuck in your tail, little duck." I say, smoothing the blouse back into place.

Prim giggles and gives me a small "Quack."

"Quack yourself." I say with a light laugh. The kind only Prim can draw out of me. "Come on, let's eat." I say an plant a quick kiss on the top of her head.

The fish and green are already cooking in a stew, but that will be for supper. We decide to save the strawberries and the bakery bread for this evenings meal, to make it special, we say. Instead we drink milk from Prim's goat, Lady, and eat rough bread from the tesserae grain, although no one has much appetite anyway.

At one o'clock we head for the square. Attendance is mandatory, unless you are knocking on deaths door. But if that were true the whole of District 12 might as well not show up. This evening, officials will come around and check to see if this is the case. If not, you'll be imprisoned.

People file in silently and sign in. The reaping is a good opportunity for the Capitol to keep tabs on the population as well. Twelve to eighteen year old's are herded into roped areas marked off by ages, the oldest In the front, the youngest, like Prim towards the back. Family members line up around the perimeter, holding tightly to one another's hands. But there are others too, who have no one they love at stake, or who no longer care, who slip among the crowd taking bets on the two kids who's name will be drawn. Odds are given on their ages, weather they're Seam or Merchant, if they will break down and weep. Most refuse dealing with the racketeers but carefully, carefully. These same people tend to be informers, and who hasn't broken the law? I could be shot on a daily basis for hunting, but the appetites of those in charge protect me. Not everyone can claim the same.

Anyway, Gale and I agree that if we have to choose between dying of hunger and a bullet in the head, the bullet would be much quicker.

* * *

The space gets tighter, more claustrophobic, as people arrive. The squares quite large, but not enough to hold District 12's population of about eight thousand. Latecomers are directed to the adjacent streets, where they can watch the event on televised screens which are live.

I focus on the stage, there are three chairs, a podium and two large glass balls, one for the boys and one for the girls. I stare at the paper slips in the girls' ball. Twenty of them have Katniss Everdeen written on them.

Two of the three chairs fill with Madge's father, Mayor Undersee, who's a tall, balding man, and Effie Trinket, District 12's Escort, fresh from the Capitol with her scary white grin, blueish hair and a spring green suit. They murmur with concern to each other while looking at the empty seat.

Just as the town clock strikes two, the mayor steps up to the podium and begins to read.

"There was once a place called North America. But droughts and fires, hurricanes and tornado's, and encroaching seas took their toll. Brutal wars broke out as people fought for the few remaining resources. The earth was scarred and desolate, the people terrified and hopeless. But out of the wreckage rose Panem, a nation made up of a great Capitol ringed by thirteen Districts, which brought peace and prosperity to its citizens for many generations. Then came the dark days, the uprising of the Districts against the Capitol. The shining light of our nation was clouded by war – terrible war. The thirteen Districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, and protected them. Their revolt left the country in tatters, Motherless children filled the streets. The land was torn asunder. After a long struggle, in which many died, there came a hard worn peace. Twelve districts were defeated, the thirteenth obliterated. When the traitors were at last suppressed, we swore as a nation we would never allow such treason again. Thus the treaty if treason was written and signed, providing us with new laws to live by – laws that would guarantee peace. As a yearly reminder that the Dark Days must never come again, it was decreed that on the same day each year, the various districts would offer up in tribute one brave young man and one brave young woman to fight in a pageant of honour, courage, and sacrifice – The Hunger Games. The twenty-four tributes are sent to an outdoor arena, where they struggle to overcome both man and nature, and triumph over the odds. Each year, the lone victor serves as a reminder of the nation's generosity and forgiveness. This season is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safe guard our future. Now the great nation of Panem, ruled by the shining Capitol, consists of twelve Districts, each essential in its own way. Each District concentrates on producing one resource, so that only together do the Districts form a cohesive, powerful whole. The Capitol collects and redistributes the food and the fuel so that every District, and every family, has what it needs to prosper."

Then he reads the list of past District 12 Victors. In seventy-four years there has only been two. And only one is still alive. Haymitch Abernathy. He then introduces Effie Trinket.

Bright and bubbly as ever Effie trots over to the podium and gives her signature "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever _in your favour." Her blue hair must have been a wig as the curls are now slightly off centre, which is most probably from the wind. She blabs on about what an honour it is to be here. Although every one knows she is just aching to be bumped up to a better District, where they have proper Victors.

"Its time for the drawing." Effie says as she always does, "Ladies first!" and crosses to the glass ball with the girls' names. She reaches in, digs her hand deep into the ball, and pulls out a slip of paper. The crowd draws in a collective breath and then you can hear a pin drop, and i'm feeling sousaphone and so desperately hoping that its not me, that its not me, that its not me.

Effie Trinket crosses back to the podium, smooths out the slip of paper, and reads the name in a loud and clear voice. And its not me.

It's Primrose Everdeen.

It feels like I've just fallen out of a tree, trying to remember how to breath, unable to speak, totally stunned as the name bounces around my skull. Someone is gripping my arm, a boy from the seam, and I think maybe I started to fall and he caught me.

There must be some mistake, she was one slip in thousands!

"Prim!" The strangled cry comes out of my throat, and my muscles begin to move again. "Prim!" I don't need to shove through the crowd. The other kids make way immediately, allowing me a straight path to the stage. I reach her just as she is about to mount the steps. With one sweep of my arm I push her behind me.

"I volunteer!" I gasp. "I volunteer as tribute!"

There is some confusion as District 12 has not had a volunteer in decades and the protocol has become rusty. The rule is that once a tributes name has been pulled from the ball, another eligible boy or girl can step forward to take his or hers place.

"lovely!" says Effie Trinket. "But I do believe that there is a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come fourth then we um..." She trails off, unsure of herself.

I continue stepping forward onto the stage, but Prim's arms wrap around me like a vice. "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!"

"Prim let go," I say harshly, because this is upsetting me, and I can't cry, I can't have people think I'm a weakling. "Let go!"

I feel her being pulled off me, so I turn around and I see Gale has lifted Prim over his shoulders and is walking back to where Prim was originally standing.

"Well bravo!" Says Effie, "That's the spirit of the games!" She is pleased to have a District with a bit of action going on in it. "What's your name?"

I swallow hard. "Katniss Everdeen," I say.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all of the glory, do we? Come one, everybody! Lets have a round of applause for our newest tribute, Katniss Everdeen!" Trills Effie Trinket.

Not one person claps. Not even the ones holding the betting slips, the ones who are usually beyond caring. Possibly because they know me from the Hob, or knew my father, or have encountered Prim, whom no one can help loving. So instead of acknowledging their applause, I stand there unmoving while they take part in the boldest form of dissent they can manage. Silence. Which says we do not agree. We do not condone. All of this is wrong.

Then something unexpected happens. At least I don't expect it because I don't think of District 12 as a place that cares about me. But a shift has occurred since I stood up to take Prim's place, and now it seems that I have become someone precious. At first one, then another, then almost every member of the crowd touches the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and holds it out to me. It is an old and rarely used gesture of our District, occasionally seen at funerals. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means goodbye to someone you love.

Now I am truly in danger of crying, but fortunately Haymitch Abernathy chooses this moment to show up to the reaping, and congratulate me. "Look at her. Look at this one!" He hollers, throwing an arm around my shoulders. He's surprisingly strong for such a drunken wreck. "I like her!" His breath reeks of liquor and it's been a long time since he's bathed. "Lots of..." He can't quite think of a word for a while. "Spunk!" he says triumphantly. "More than you!" He releases me and starts for the front of the stage. "More than you!" He shouts directly into the camera.

Is he adressing the audience or the actual Capitol? I'll never know as he trips over his own two feet and nose dives off the stage, knocking himself unconscious.

Haymitch is whisked away on a stretcher and Effie Trinket is trying to get the ball rolling again. "What an exciting day!" She warbles as she attempts to straighten her wig, that has somehow been blown even more off to the side. "But more excitement to come! Its time to choose our boy tribute!" Clearly hoping to clear her tenuous situation, she plants her hand into the boys ball that contains the boys' names and grabs the first slip she encounters. I don't even have time to wish for his safety as she is reading the name out.

Gale Hawthorne.

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**A/N: Yes I know I am a very evil person, leaving you with such evil cliffhangers, but you shall have to wait until tomorrow for a update, possible even Sunday as it is my lil brothers birthday party, then I am going for a sleepover at my friends house and I may not have time to write another chapter. **

**Reviews, favs and follows are as ever highly appreciated, and will be rewarded in virtual cookies, but for now goodbye :) **

**~ Cheyenne xx**


	3. Flashback's

**A/N: Hello and welcome to Chapter three, now I must say that there is no mention of any of Katniss' powers, because I was thinking that it would be much more logical to put them in Chapter 5 (you guys will find out why chapter five is important soon) and I am aware that this chapter also sticks very, very close to the book, but there was not really any other way to write it out. So oh well,. Any way's I would like to hugely thank Carmelle for the lovely review, it made my day, and a huge thanks to all of the people who have followed and faved my story, it means a lot to me, and yes I know I took literally forever to update, but in my defence I was having a very busy time at school, with having to choose my options for my future GCSE's but hopefully I should be back to updating twice a week now, and hopefully Chapter 4 might be done by the end of the day. Any way's enjoy reading :)**

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Chapter 3 – Flashback's

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The shock of Effie Trinket reading Gale's name out paralyses me. All I can do is stand on the stage and watch as my best friend heads towards the same fate as I am. Death.

Who is going to feed our family's now? Gale and I agreed that if one of us were chosen to compete in the Hunger Games that the other one of us would feed our family's. But what we hadn't thought of was both of us being chosen at the same time. It just seemed so unlikely at the time. But now it is happening.

Just as Gale reaches the bottom steps of the stage. A miracle happens.

I see a boy raise his hand triumphantly, then he opens his mouth to speak, "I volunteer as tribute." He almost shouts. But then I realise who _'He' _is.

_Oh God, why him?_

Its Peeta Mellark.

The boy with the bread.

I doubt he even remembers what he did for me all those years ago, but you never forget the face of someone who saved your life.

_It was during the worst time. My father had been killed in the mine accident three moths earlier in the bitterest January anyone could remember. The numbness of his loss had just passed, and the pain would hit me out of nowhere, doubling me over wrapping me with sobs. Where are you? I would cry out in my mind. Where have you gone? Of course there was never any answer._

_The District had given us a small amount of money as compensation for his death, enough to cover one month of grieving, after which time my mother would be expected to get a new job. Only she didn't. She didn't do anything except sit propped up on a chair or, more often, huddled under the blankets on her bed, eyes fixed on some point in the distance. Once in a while, she'd stir, get up as if moved by some urgent purpose, only to then collapse back into stillness. No amount of pleading from Prim seemed to affect her. _

_I was terrified. I suppose that now my mother was locked in some dark world of sadness, but at the time, all I knew was that I had lost not only a father, but a mother as well. At eleven years old, and Prim just seven, I took over as head of the family. There was no choice. I brought our food at the market and cooked it as best as I could and tried to keep Prim and myself looking presentable. Because if it had been known that my mother could no longer take care of us, the District would have taken us away from her and placed us in the community home. I'd grown up seeing those home kids at school. The sadness, the marks of angry hands of their faces, the hopelessness that curled their shoulders forward. I could never let that happen to Prim. Sweet, innocent, Prim, who cried when I cried before she even knew the reason, who brushed and plaited my mothers hair before we left for school, who still polished my fathers shaving mirror each night because he hated the layer of coal dust that settled of everything in the Seam. The community home would crush her like a bug. So I kept our predicament a secret._

_But the money ran out and we were slowly starving to death. There's no other way to put it. I kept telling myself if I could only hold out till May, just the eighth of May, I would turn twelve and be able to sign up for tesserae and get the precious grain and oil to feed us. Only there were several weeks to go. We could well be dead by then._

_Starvations not an uncommon fate in District 12. Who hadn't seen the victims? Older people who can't work. Children from a family with too many to feed. Those injured in the mines. Straggling through the streets. And one day, you come across them sitting motionless against a wall or lying in the meadow, you hear the wails from a house, and the peacekeepers are called to collect the body. Starvation is never the cause of death officially. Its always the flu, or exposure, or pneumonia. But that fools no one._

_On the afternoon of my encounter with Peeta Mellark, the rain was falling in relentless icy sheets. I had been in town trying to trade some threadbare old baby clothes of Prim's in the public market, but there were no takers. Although I had been to the Hob on several occasions with my father, I was too frightened to venture into that rough, gritty place alone. The rain had soaked through my fathers hunting jacket, leaving me chilled to the bone. For three days, we'd had nothing but boiled water with some old, dried mint leaves I'd found in the back of the cupboard. By the time the market closed I was shaking so hard I dropped my bundle of baby clothes in a muddy puddle. I didn't pick it up in fear that I would kneel over and be unable to regain my feet. Besides, no one wanted those clothes. _

_I couldn't go home. Because at home was my mother with her dead eyes and my little sister, with her hollow cheeks and cracked lips. I couldn't walk into that room with the smoky fire from the damp branches I had gathered at the edge of the woods after the coal had run out, my hands empty of any hope._

_I found myself stumbling along a muddy lane behind the shops that serve the wealthiest townspeople. The merchants live above their business, so I was essentially in their back gardens. I remember the outlines of the garden beds not yet planted for spring, a goat or two in a pen, one sodden dog tied to a post, hunched defeated in the muck._

_All forms of stealing are forbidden in District 12. Punishable by death. But it crossed my mind that there might be something thrown into the rubbish bins, and those were a fair game. Perhaps a bone at the butcher's or rotted vegetables at the grocer's, something no one but my family was desperate enough to eat. Unfortunately the bins had just been emptied. _

_When I passed the bakers, the smell of fresh baked bread was so overwhelming I felt dizzy. The ovens were in the back, and a golden glow spilled out of the kitchen door. I stood mesmerised by the heat and the luscious scent until the rain interfered, running its icy fingers down my back, forcing me back to life. I lifted the lid to the bakers rubbish bin and found it spotlessly, heartlessly bare._

_Suddenly a voice was screaming at me and I looked up to see the bakers wife, telling me to move on and did I want her to call the peacekeepers and how sick she was from having those brats from the Seam pawing through her rubbish. The words were ugly and I had no defence. As I carefully replaced the lid and backed away, I noticed him, a boy with blond hair peering out from behind his mothers back. I'd seen him at school. He was in my year but I didn't know his name. He stuck with the town kids so how would I? His mother went back into the bakery, grumbling, but he must have been watching me as I made my way behind the pen that held their pigs and leaned against the far side of the old apple tree. The realization that I had nothing to take home had finally sunk in. my knees buckled and I slid down the tree to its roots. It was too much, I was too sick, and weak and tired. Oh so tired. _

_Let them call the peacekeepers and take us to the community home. I thought. Or better yet, let me die right here in the rain._

_There was a clatter in the bakery and I heard the woman screaming and the sound of a blow, and I vaguely wondered what was going on. Feet sloshed towards me in the mud and I thought, its her. She's coming to drive me away with a stick. But it wasn't her. It was the boy. In his arms were to large loafs of bread that must have fallen into the fire because the crusts were scorched black._

_His mother was yelling, "Feed it to the pigs, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy brunt bread!" _

_He began to tear off chunks of the burnt parts and toss them into the trough, the front bakery bell rung and the mother disappeared to go and help a customer._

_The boy never even glanced my way, but I was watching him. Because of the bread, because of the red weal that stood out on his cheekbone. What had she hit him with? My parents never hit us. I couldn't even imagine it. The boy took one look back at the bakery as if checking the coast was clear, then, his attention back on the pig, he threw a loaf of bread in my direction. The second quickly followed, and he sloshed back into the bakery, closing the kitchen door tightly behind him._

_I stared at the loafs in disbelief. They were fine, perfect really, except for the burned areas. Did he mean for me to have them? He must have. Because they were at my feet. Before anyone could witness what happened, I shoved the loafs up under my shirt, wrapped the hunting jacket tightly around me, and walked swiftly away. The heat of the bread burned into my skin, but I clutched it tighter, clinging to life._

_By the time I reached home the loafs had cooled somewhat, but the insides were still warm. When I dropped them on the table, Prim's hands reached to tear off a chunk, but I made her sit, forced my mother to join us at the table, and poured some warm tea. I scraped of the black stuff and sliced the bread. We ate an entire loaf, slice by slice. It was good hearty bread, filled with resins and nuts._

_I put my clothes to dry at the fire, crawled into bed, and fell into a dreamless sleep. It didn't occur to me the next morning that the boy might have burned the bread on purpose. Might have dropped the loafs into the flames, knowing it meant being punished, and then delivered them to me. But I dismissed this. It must have been an accident. Why would he have done it? He didn't even know me. Still even just throwing the bread was an enormous kindness that would have surely resulted in a beating if discovered. I couldn't explain his actions._

_We ate slices of bread for breakfast and headed to school. It was as if spring had come overnight. Warm sweet air. Fluffy clouds. At school, I passed the boy in the hall; his cheek had swelled up and his eye had blackened. He was with his friends and didn't acknowledge me in any way. But as I collected Prim and started home for that afternoon, I found him staring at me from across the school yard. Our eyes met, only for a second, then he turned his head away. I dropped my gaze, embarrassed, and that's when I saw it. The first dandelion of the year. A bell went off in my head. I thought of the hours spent in the woods to survive with my father and I knew how we were going to survive._

* * *

To this day, I can never shake the connection between this boy, Peeta Mellark, and the bread that gave me hope, and the dandelion that reminded me that I was not doomed. And more than once, I have turned in the school hallway, and caught his eyes trained on me, only to quickly flit away. I feel like I owe him something, and I hate owing people. Maybe if I had thanked him at some point, I'd be feeling less conflicted now. I thought about it a couple of times, but the opportunity never seemed to present itself. And now it never will. Because we're going to be thrown into an arena to fight to the death. Exactly how am I supposed to work a thank-you in there? Somehow it just won't seem sincere when I am trying to slit his throat.

The mayor finishes his dreary speech that I was not listening to and motions for me and Peeta to shake hands. His are as solid and warm as those loafs of bread. Peeta looks me right in the eye and gives my hand what I am sure is a reassuring squeeze. Maybe it's just a nervous spasm.

We turn back to face the crowd as the anthem of Panem plays.

_Oh well._ I think. _There will be twenty four of us. Odds are someone else will kill him before I do._

Of course the odds have not been very dependable of late.

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**A/N: So, how was this chapter? Reviews, favourites and follows are rewarded with virtual pizzas, because they seem more appealing that cookies (^.^) Any way, goodbye for now :)**

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**~ Cheyenne xx**


	4. Goodbye's

**A/N: Whooo, Chapter 4 *clap for me* Anyways I would like to hugely thank Carmelle (again :)) + Asherah Isa (Three reviews yay) and finally TalentStar. I would also like to thank all 10 of you who have followed my story (you know who you are) and all seven of you who have favorites my story. (Yet again you know who you are) :) Anyways on with chapter 4...**

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Chapter 4 - Goodbye's

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The moment the anthem ends, we are taken into custody. I don't mean were handcuffed or anything, but a group of peacekeepers marches us through the front door of the Justice Building. Maybe tributes have tried to escape in the past. I've never seen that happen though.

Once inside, I'm conducted to a room and left alone. It's the richest place I've ever been in, with thick, deep carpets and a velvet couch and chairs. I know what velvet looks like because my mother has a sunset orange dress with a collar made of the stuff. When I sit on the couch I can't help but run my fingers over it repeatedly. It helps calm me as I try to prepare for the next hour. The time allotted for the tributes to say goodbye to their loved ones. I cannot afford to get upset, to leave this room with puffy eyes and a red nose. Crying is not an option. There will be more cameras at the train station.

Prim and my mother come in first. I reach out to Prim and she climbs onto my lap, her arms around my neck, head on my shoulder, just like she did when she was a toddler. My mother sits beside Me and wraps her arms around us. For a few minuets we say nothing. Then i start telling them all of the things they must remember to do, now that I will not be there to do it for them.

"Prim, you are not to take any tesserae. You can get by, if you're careful, selling Lady's milk and cheese." I now look towards my mother, "Mother, you can get by with your apothecary, Gale will get you the herbs that you don't grow, but describe them carefully as he is not as familiar with them as I am. He'll also bring the meat, but he won't ask for compensation, but you should thank him with a kind of trade, possibly milk, cheese or medicine."

I don't bother suggesting that Prim learns to hunt, I've already tried that a couple of times, she was dreadful and she was also terrified of the woods. And whenever I shot something she would go all teary eyed and talk about how we might be able to heal it, if we got it home soon enough. But she already has a goat, and that awful fleabag Buttercup, she does not need another pet.

I'm still focusing on my mother, but to make sure she is actually listening I grip her arm. Hard. "Are you listening to me?" I ask harshly, she must know what's coming. "You can't leave again." I tell her.

My mothers eyes find the floor, "I know. I won't. I couldn't help what happened."

"Well you HAVE to help this time, you can't clock out and leave Prim on her own. I will not be here anymore to keep both of you alive. No matter what happens. No matter what you see on the screen, you have to promise me that you will fight it through!" My voice has risen to a shout. In it is all the anger, all the fear I felt at her abandonment.

She pulls her arm away from my tight grasp, becoming angry herself now. "I was ill, I could have treated myself if I had the medicine that I have now."

"Then take it and take care of her!" I say.

"Katniss, it will be alright." Prim says, holding my face in her hands, "But you have to take care, too. You're so fast and brave. Maybe you can win."

But I can't win. Surely Prim must know that. The competition is far beyond my abilities. Kids from wealthier Districts, where winning is a huge honor, who've been trained their whole lives for this. Boys who are two, three times my size. Girls who know twenty different ways to kill you with a knife. But there will be people like me, too. The people to weed out before the real fun begins.

"Maybe," I say. I can't tell Prim that I won't win, especially when my mother is sat right next to me. It will make me sound like a hypocrite if I've already given up on myself. Besides it would be against my nature to go down without a fight. "Then we'd be as rich as Haymitch."

"I don't care if we're rich. I just wan't you to come home. You will try won't you? Really, really try?" Prim asks.

"Really, really try. I swear it." I say. And I know, because of Prim, I'll have to.

And then the Peacekeeper is at the door, signalling our time is up, and we're all hugging one another so hard it hurts and all I'm saying is, "I love you. I love you both." And they're saying back and then the Peacekeeper orders them out and the door closes. I bury my head in one of the velvet pillows as if this can block the whole thing out.

Someone else enters the room and when I look up I'm surprised to see that it's Peeta Mellarks father. I don't understand why he is coming to visit me, especially when I will be trying to kill his son soon. But we do know each other a bit, but he knows Prim even better. When she sells her goats cheeses at the Hob, she puts two of them aside for him and he gives her a generous amount of bread in return. We always wait to trade with him when his Bitch of a wife isn't around. I would call her a witch, but that would be a bit hypocritical of myself now wouldn't it?

The baker sits awkwardly on the edge of one of the plush chairs. He's a big broad shouldered man with burn scars from years at the ovens. He must of just said goodbye to his son as his eyes are slightly puffy.

He pulls a white package from his jacket pocket and hands it to me. I open it and find cookies. These are a luxury We can never afford.

"Thank you," I say. The baker is not a very talkative person in the best of times, and today he has barley any words at all. "I had some of your bread this morning. My friend Gale traded it for a squirrel." He nods, as if remembering the squirrel. "Not your best trade." I say. He shrugs as if it doesn't matter.

I can't think of anything else to say, and neither can the baker, so we sit in silence until the Peacekeeper comes knocking on the door. The baker stands and clears his throat. "I'll keep an eye on Prim, make sure she's eating."

I feel some of the pressure in my chest lighten at his words.

My next guest is Gale. And although there is nothing romantic going on between us, he runs up to me with open arms, embracing me with a hug. His body is familiar to me – the way it moves, the smell of wood smoke, even the sound of his heart beating I know from quiet moments on our hunt – but this is the first time I really feel it, lean and hard muscled against my own.

"Listen." He says. "Getting a knife should be pretty easy, but you have to get your hands on a bow. That is your best chance."

"But they don't always have bows," I say, thinking of that one dreadful year, when the only weapons that were available were spiked maces. The tributes were forced to bludgeon each other to death.

"Then make one." Says Gale. "Even a weak bow is better than no bow at all."

I have tried copying my father's bows, with poor results. Its not that easy. Even he had to scrap his own work sometimes.

"I don't even know if there will be wood." I say. Another year they tossed everybody into a landscape of nothing but boulders and sand and scruffy bushes. I particularly hated that year. Many contestants were bitten by venomous snakes or went insane from thirst.

"There's almost always wood." Gale says. "Since that year almost half of them died of cold. Not much entertainment in that."

It's true. We spent one Hunger Games watching the players freeze to death at night. You could hardly see them because they were just huddled in balls and had no wood for fires or torches or anything. It was considered very anticlimactic in the Capitol, all those quiet, blood less deaths. Since then, there's usually been wood to make fires.

"Yes there's usually some." I say.

"Katniss, it's just hunting. You're the best hunter I know." Says Gale.

"It's not just hunting. They're armed. The think." I say.

Gale leans over so his mouth is near my ear, "So what, use one of your... Special powers." He whispers.

"Gale! I can't! They will be filming me the entire time, someone is bound to get suspicious." I whisper back at him.

"No they won't, if you do it right, it's not as if you are going to go around that arena flying. Fuck's sake Catnip, you can't fly. Trust me your powers are not that obvious." He harshly whispers back to be.

"Whatever." I scoff.

He tries to change the subject. "I'm going to visit that Mellark kid in a bit, try to figure out why he would want to volunteer for me."

"Good for you." I say sarcastically.

Gale stands, dusting off his trousers as he walks to the door. He turns to me one last time. "Look just try to win, I'll help feed Prim and your Mother while you're gone." And with that he opens, then shuts the door, leaving me to myself.

That could be the last I ever see him, I think.

he last visitor walks in and it surprises me with who it is. Madge Undersee. She walks straight to me, but there is a urgency to her tone. "They let you wear one thing from your District in the arena. One thing to remind you of home. Will you wear this?" She holds out the circular, real gold pin from earlier that was stuck on her dress. I hadn't paid much attention to it earlier, but now I see that it has a small bird in flight in the middle of the circle.

"Your pin?" I say. Wearing a token from my District is the last thing on my mind.

"Here i'll put it on your dress, all right?" Madge doesn't wait for an answer, she just leans in and fixes the pin to my dress. "Promise you'll wear it in the arena, Katniss?" She asks. "Promise."

"Yes." I say. Cookies. A pin. I'm getting all kinds of gifts today. Madge gives me one more. A kiss on the cheek. Then she's gone and I'm left thinking that maybe Madge has been my friend all along.

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**A/N: Okay, so this chapter is done, please tell me what you thought of it with a review, favorite or follow, bur for now goodbye, and yep its time for Chapter 5, which should be out sometime within this week, but it defiantly will be out before this coming Sunday. **

**P.S. Chapter five is when you all discover what are Katniss' powers and how she will use them in the arena + there shall be lots and lots of Everlark in the next chapter, so stay tuned *Tips hat and walks away***

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**~ Cheyenne xx**


	5. The Train Journey

**A/N: Wow, I feel accomplished I've made it to chapter 5, go me. Anyway this is the chapter I've been talking about since I've created this fanfic, and I just wanted to say that you will be shocked. And I also want to say a big thank you to Carmelle and a random guest for reviewing, its very sweet. And thanks to everyone who has Favorited and followed. Also I apologize for any spelling mistakes, but my spell check was not working properly :'(**

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Chapter 5 – The Train Journey

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I sit in the extravagant room all by myself for the remaining hour. I wonder how many visitors Peeta has had? Was it the same as me, or more? It certainly couldn't of been less because he is extremely popular in school. More than I am anyway.

I wonder what his parents thought of him, volunteering for Gale? A stranger in their minds. Maybe they're wondering why. Heck even I'm wondering why he would volunteer for Gale. Why would he volunteer for anyone that he dosen't know that well? He must have a death wish of somesorts.

I continue to stare at the beige wall, with the gold framed painting of a field, until I hear 3 quick taps on the door. I spin around to see Effie Trinket's eyes trailed on me, and her stupid mouth turned into a goofy looking grin. Eugh.

"Come on," The stupid looking Capitol woman says. "We're going to be late for the train."

"Wouldn't want to miss that, would we now, Effie?" I say, my voice smothered with scarcasm.

"That's just the right spirit!" She says, beaming a white toothy smile at me.

The woman grabs my arm with her decorated hand and pulls me out of the Justice Building and into a car. This is the first ever car I've been in. I've only ever been in wagons, and even that was rare. Here in District 12 we prefer to travel on foot.

I look to the left side of me and I find Peeta sitting awkwardly next to Effie, looking very puffy eyed and staring out of the window. I was right not to cry. The station is swarming with reporters with their insect like cameras trained on my every move. But most importantly my face. It's okay though, because I've had pleanty of practice of hiding my emotions, so I do that now. I catch a glimps of myself on a television screen and I feel almost gleeful that I appear to be almost bored.

I look to the side of me, to see that Peeta, now looks somehow even worse than he did before, almost as if he was crying in the car, which could of been possible as I was not paying any attention to him. But strangely enough he does not seem to be covering it up. I immediatly wonder if this will be his stragety for the games. To appear weak and frightened, like a girl did a few years ago. Her name was Johanna Mason. She seemed likee such a sniviling cowardly fool that no one even bothered with her until there were only a handful of people left. It turned out that she could kill viciously. Pretty clever the way she played it. But this seems like an odd stragety for Peeta Mellark, mainly because he too has volunteered himself to be a part of these games. Plus he's the bakers son. All those years of having enough to eat and hauling bread trays around has made him broad shouldered and very strong. It will take a heck of a lot of weeping for people to overlook him.

* * *

We stand for a few minuets in the doorway of the train while the cameras invade my personal space, then we're allowed inside and the doors close harshly behind us. The train begins to move straight after. I hear Effie chirping somewhere in the background about how the train goes two hundren something miles an hour. Not that I care, but the initial speed takes my breath away. Of course, I've never been on a train, as travel between the districts is forbidden except of officially sanctioned duties. For us, that's mainly transporting coal, and tributes, which are about to be slaughtered like lambs for the Capitols entertainment.

In school they tell us that the Capitol was built in a place that used to be called the Rockies. District 12 was in a place known as Appalachica. Even hundreds of years ago they used to mine coal here, thats why the miners have to dig so deep.

Somehow it all comes back to coal at school. Besides basic reading and maths, most of our instruction is coal-related. Except for the weekly lecture on the history of Panem. It's mostly a lot of shit about what we owe the Capitol. I know there must be more there telling us , an accual account of what happened during the rebellion. But I don't spend much time thinking about it. Whatever the truth is, I don't see how it will help me get food on the table.

* * *

I have to hold in a gasp. The tribute train is even fancier than even the room in the Justice Building. Me and Peeta are given are own chambers that have a bedroom, a dressing room and our own private bathroom with hot and cold running water. We don't have hot water at home, unless we boil it.

There are draws filled with fine clothes, and Effie Trinket tells me to do anything I want, wear anything I want, everything is at my disposal. Just be ready for supper in an hour. I peel off my mother's mint coloured dress and take a hot shower. I've never had a shower before. It's like being in the summer rain, only warmer. I then dress in a dark green dress and trousers.

At the last minuet I remember Madges little gold pin. For the first time, I get a good look at it. It's as if someone fashioned a small golden bird and then attached a ring around it. The bird is connected to the ring only by it's wing tips. I suddenly recognize it. A mockingjay. Just like the ones in the woods at home.

They're funny birds and something of a slap in the face of the Capitol. During the rebellion, the Capitol bred a series of genetically altered animals as weapons. The common term for them was _muttations,_ or sometimes _mutts_ for short. One was a special bird called a jabberjay that had the ability to memorize and repeat whole human conversations. They were homing birds, exclusively male, that were released into regions where the Capitol's enemies were known to be hiding. After the birds gathered words, they'd fly back to centers to be recoreded. It took people a while to realize what was going on in the Districts, how private conversations were being transmitted. Then of course, the rebels fed the Capitol endless lies, and the joke was on it. So the centers were shut down and the birds were abandoned to die off in the wild.

Only the didn't die off. Instead, the jabberjays mated with female mocking birds, creating a whole new species that could replicate both bird whistles and human melodies. They had lost the ability to enunciate words but could still mimic a range of human vocal sounds, from a childs high pitched warble to a man's deep tones. And they could recreate songs. Not just a few notes, but whole songs with mulitipul verses. If you had the patients to sing to them and if they liked your voice.

Effie Trinket comes to collect me for supper. I follow her through the narrow, rocking corridor into a dining room with polished, panelled white walls. There's a table where all the dishes are highly breakable. Peeta Mellark sits waiting for us, the chair next to him empty.

"Where's Haymitch?" Asks Effie Trinket brightly.

"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap." Says Peeta.

"Well, it has been an exausting day." Says Effie Trinket. I think she's relieved by Haymitches absence, and who can blame her?

The supper comes in courses. A thick carrot soup, green salad, lamb chops and mashed potatoes, chees and fruit, a chocolate cake. Throughout the meal Effie keeps reminding us to save some space because there's more to come. But I'm stuffing myself because I've never had food as good as this, and there's so much, and because this is probably the best I can do between now and the games. Put on a few pounds.

"At least you two have decent manners." Says Effie as we're finishing the main course. "The pair last year ate everything like a couple of savages. It completley upset my digestion."

The pair last year were two kids from the Seam who'd never, not one day of their lives had enough to eat. And when they did have food, I'm sure the last thing on their lives was table manners. Peeta's a bakers son. And my mother taught Prim and me to eat properly, so yes, I can handle a fork and a knife. But I hate Effies comment so much that I make a point of eating the rest of the meal with my fingers. Then I wipe my hands on the tablecloth. This makes her purse her lips tightly together.

Now that the meals over, I'm fighting to keep the food down. I can see that Peeta's looking a little green too. Neither of our stomachs are used to such a rich fare. But if I can hold down Greasy Sae's concotion of mice meat. Pig entrails and tree bark – a winter speciality – I'm determined to hold onto this.

We go to another compartment to watch the recap of the reapings across Panem. They try to stagger them throughout the day so a person could convincably watch the whole thing live, but only people in the Capitol could really do that, since none of them have reapings to attend themselves.

One by one, we see the other reapings, the names called, the volunteers stepping forward or, more than often, not. We examine the faces of the kids who will be our competetion. A few stand out in my mind. A monstroud boy who lunges forward to volunteer from District 2. A fox-faced girl from District 5. A boy with a crippled foot from District 10. And most hauntingly, a twelve-year-old girl from District 11. She has dark brown skin and eyes, but other than that, she's very like Prim in size and demeanour. Only when she mounts the stage and they ask for volunteers, all you can hear is the wind whistling through the decreipt buildings around her. There's no one willing to take her place.

Last of all, they show District 12. Prim being called, me running forward to volunteer. You can't miss the desperation in my voice as I shove Prim behind me, as I'm afraid no one will hear and they'll take Prim away. But of course they do hear. I see Gale, pulling her off me and I watch myself mount the stage. The comentators are not sure what to say about the crowds refusal to applaud. The silent salute. One says that District 12 has always been a bit backward but that local customs can be charming. Next Gale's name is drawn, and then for some unbeknown reason, Peeta then rushes forward to volunteer. He then quietly takes his place. We shake hands. They then cut to the anthem again, and the programme ends.

Effie Trinket is clearly still annoyed about Haymitch being late. "Your mentor has a lot to learn about time. And presentation." She says.

Peeta laughs unexpectedly. "He was drunk." He says. "He's drunk every year."

"Every day," I add. I can't help smirking a little. Effie Trinket makes it sound like Haymitch just has somewhat rough manners that could be corrected with a few tips from her.

"Yes," hisses Effie Trinket. "How odd you tow find it amuzing. You know your mentor is your lifeline in the games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsers, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!" Effie almost shouts. Then she stands smoothing out her silly looking dress. "Anyway I'm going." And with that she leaves the room.

Peeta and I just stare at eachother slightly smirking. I go to stay something but come up short.

"So..." He says his cheeks flushing red in embarassment.

"Can I ask you a question?" I ask him.

"You just did" He points out. I just scowl at him.

"Why did you volunteer for Gale?" I ask.

He looks at me for a while, as if he is complentating telling me why. "You and Gale, what ever kind of relationship you have with him, I can tell that it is special. With you volunteering and him being reaped there was no way that one of you could come back without being crushed. And honestly I would rather help make two people happy for the rest of their lives than see the one of you looking sad." He says.

I look at him sadly. "But Peeta, if you intend for me to win then, that means that you will have to die." I say matter of factly.

He shrugs his shoulders as if he doesn't care. "So be it." He says. The Peeta looks back at me, his eyes shining. "Anyway now that you've asked me a question it's my turn to ask you one." He says.

I inwardly groan and wait for him to ask.

"Last week I was picking some apples from the trees in the woods. I saw you there and you shot down a squriell, but instead of you going to pick it up, it just kind of um... Floated towards you. How do you do that?" He asks.

My eyes widen in suprise, I remember that one day when I was too lazy to pick the damned creature up, then I heard running footsteps, but thought nothing of it. Turns out it was Peeta. I think about telling him a lie, but I then decide against it. The boy is going to die in less than a week. Who cares if he knows.

I look at him, my face void of any emoitions. "I'm a witch." I say simpily.

Peeta looks shocked, and frankly so would I if I was in his position.

"What are your witch powers?" He asks cautiously.

I give in and tell him. "Um well I have six. I can walk extremely lightly and be very agile. I can summon objects into my hands, I think that ones called something like calling. I can hear what people are saying in their mind. I can move extremely fast. I can shapeshift into anyone I like and I can also grant other people powers." I say quietly, slightly embarassed.

Peeta's eyes widen as I tell him my last power. "You will probably say no, but um could you um... give me a power?"

I stay silent for a long time thinking about my answer, but then I look into his beautiful bright blue eyes. "Depends on what power you want. And you have to think about it, as not all my powers are fully developed and I could accidently transfer a few more onto you than what you would of wanted." I say.

He sits on his chair for a long time thinking about the answer to my question, but then he speaks up, ever so quietly. "Camoflauge. I want to be able to blend myself into the backgroundd of anything." He says.

"Are you sure about the risks." I say.

He shakes his head yes.

I then slowly begin to raise my glowing white hand. I then grab his and hold it tightly, feeling the power transferring itself into his body.

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**A/N: Dun, dun, dun, a cliffhanger, hahah have fun.**

**Don't forget to review, favorite and follow :)**

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**~ Cheyenne xx**


	6. Vomit And Cookies

**A/N: A quick authors note, thanks to Fandoms-Are-For-Life for reviewing and the 18 other people for following my story :)**

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Chapter 6 – Vomit And Cookies

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Peeta's body shakes a little, confirming for me that the power has fully transferred to him. He beams me a toothy smile. "Thanks." He says awkwardly.

"Do you want to go and see if it works?" I ask him, smiling.

"Um... can we wait till' training?" He says, answering my question with another.

"Yea, sure." I reply.

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Haymitch suddenly walks in, smiles at us then pukes all over the floor, and then passes out.

For a few moments, Peeta and I take in the scene of our mentor lying in a pool of the slippery white stuff from his stomach. The reek of vomit and raw spirits almost brings my dinner up. We exchange a glance. Obviously Haymitch isn't much, but Effie is right about one thing; Once we're in the arena, he's all we've got. As if by some unspoken agreement, Peeta and I each take one of Haymitch's arms and help him onto his feet.

Haymitch slowly opens his eyes. "I tripped?" Haymitch asks. "Smells bad." He wipes his hand on his nose, smearing his face with vomit.

"Let's get you back to your room." Says Peeta. "Clean you up a bit."

We half lead, half carry Haymitch back to his compartment. Since we can't exactly set him down on the beautifully decorated bedspread, we haul him into the bathtub and turn the shower on him, he hardly notices.

"It's okay." Peeta says. "I'll take it from here."

I can't help feeling a little grateful, since the last thing I want to do is strip down Haymitch, wash the vomit out of his chest hair, and then tuck him into bed. It could be possible that Peeta is trying to make a good impression on him, to be his favourite once the games begin. But judging by the state he's in, Haymitch will have no memory of this by tomorrow.

"All right." I say. "I can send one of the Capitol people to help you." There's any number on the train. Cooking for us. Waiting on us. Guarding us. Taking care of us is their job.

"No I don't want them." Says Peeta.

I nod and head off to my own room. I understand how Peeta feels. I can't stand the sight of Capitol people myself. But making them deal with Haymitch might be a small form of revenge. So I'm pondering the reason why he insists on taking care of Haymitch and then all of a sudden I think,_ it's because he's being kind. Just as he was kind to give me the bread._

The idea pulls me up short. A kind Peeta Mellark is far more dangerous than an unkind one. Kind people have a way of working their way inside me and rooting there. And I can't let Peeta do this. Not where we're going. So I decide from this moment on to have as little to do with the bakers son as possible. Maybe I could even take back his power while he sleeps.

When I get back to my room, the train is pausing at a platform to refuel. I quickly open the window, toss the cookies from Peeta's father gave me out of the train, and then slam the glass shut. No more. No more of either of them.

Unfortunately the packet of cookies bursts open on a patch on dandelions by the track. I only see the image for a moment, because the train is off again, but it's enough. Enough to remind me of that other dandelion in the school year years ago...

_I had just turned away from Peeta Mellark's bruised face when I saw the dandelion and I knew that hope was not lost. I plucked it carefully and hurried home. I grabbed a bucket and Prim's hand and headed to the Meadow and yes, it was dotted with the golden-headed wheels. After we harvested those, we scrounged along inside the fence for probably a mile until we'd filled the bucket with the dandelion greens, steams and flowers. That night we gorged ourselves on dandelion salad and the rest of the bakery bread._

"_What else?" Prim asked me. "What other food can we find?"_

"_All kinds of things." I promised her. "I just have to remember them."_

_The next day we were off school. For a while I hung around the edges of the Meadow but finally I gathered up the courage to slip under the fence. It was the first time I'd been there alone, without my fathers weapons to protect me. But I retrieved the small bow and arrows he'd made me from a hollow tree. I probably didn't go more than twenty meters into the woods that day. Most of the time, I perched up in the branches of an old oak, hoping for game to come by. After several hours I had the good luck to kill a rabbit. I'd shot a few rabbits before, with my fathers guidance. But this I'd done on my own._

_We hadn't eaten meat in months. The sight of the rabbit seemed to stir something in my mother. She roused herself, skinned the carcass, and made a stew with the meat and some more greens Prim had gathered. Then she acted confused and went back to bed, but when the stew was done we made her eat a bowl._

_The woods became our saviour, and each day I went a bit further into its arms. It was slow going at first, but I was determined to feed us. I stole eggs from nests, caught fish in nets sometimes I managed to shoot a squirrel or rabbit for stew, and gathered the various plants the sprung beneath my feet. Plants are tricky. Many are edible. But one false mouthful and you're dead. I checked and double checked the plants. I kept us alive._

_Any sign of danger, a distant howl, the inexplicable break of a branch, sent my flying back to the fence at first. Then I began to risk climbing trees to escape the wild dogs that quickly got bored and moved on. Bears and cats lived deeper in, perhaps disliking the sooty reek of our District._

_On the eighth of May, I went up to the Justice Building and signed up for my tesserae, and pulled home my first batch of grain and oil in Prim's toy wagon. On the eighth of every month I was entitlement to do so. I couldn't stop hunting and gathering, of course. The grain was not enough to live on, and there was other things to buy, soap and milk and thread. What we didn't have to absolutely eat, I began to trade at the Hob. It was frightening to enter that place without my father at my side, but people had respected him, and they accepted me. Game was game, after all, no matter who shot it. I also sold at the back doors of the wealthier clients in town, trying to remember what my father had told me and learning a few new tricks myself. The butcher would buy rabbits, but not squirrels. The baker enjoyed squirrel but would only trade for one if his wife wasn't around. The head peacekeeper loved wild turkey. The mayor had a passion for strawberries._

_In late summer, I was washing up in a pond when I noticed the plants growing around me. Tall with leaves like arrowheads. Blossoms with the three white petals. I knelt down in the water, my fingers digging into the soft mud, and I pulled up handfuls of the roots. Small, blueish tubers that don't look like much, but once cooked, boiled or baked are as good as any other potato. "Katniss." I said aloud. It's the plant I was named for. And I heard my fathers voice joking. "As long as you can find yourself, you'll never starve." I spent hours stirring up the pond bed with my feet and a stick, gathering the tubers that floated to the top. That night we feasted on fish and Katniss roots until we were all, for the first time in months, full._

_Slowly my mother returned to us. She began to clean and cook and preserve some of the food I brought in for winter. People traded with us for some of the food I brought in for winter. People traded with us or paid money for medicinal remedies. One day I heard her singing._

_Prim was thrilled to have her back, but I kept watching, waiting for her to disappear on us again, I didn't trust her. And some small gnarled place inside me hated her for her weakness, for her neglect, for the months she had put us through. Prim forgave her, but I had taken a step back from my mother, put up a wall put up a wall to protect myself from needing her, and nothing was ever the same between us again._

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Now I am going to die without that ever being set right. I think of how I yelled at her today in the justice building. But I had told her I loved her too, though. So maybe it would all balance out.

I decide that it's time to go to bed so I walk over to the draws that will hold any number of nightgowns, but I decide against it and I just strip off what I am wearing and climb into bed in just my underwear. The sheets are made of silky, soft fabric. A thick, fluffy quilt gives immediate warmth.

If I'm going to cry, then now is the time to do it. By morning, I'll be able to wash the damage done by the tears from my face. But no tears come. I'm too tired or too numb to cry. The only thing I feel is a desire to be somewhere else. So I let the train rock me into oblivion.

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**A/N: So what did you think of this chapter? Please let me know by leaving a review, as I only got only last time *Cries* but oh well. Also a question. Should I make up a totally new arena or keep the same one from the books\movies? Also don't forget to fave and follow... :)**

**P.S. Sorry, this chapter is a bit short, next should hopefully be a bit longer. *Cries again as this chapter was under 2,000 words***

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**~ Cheyenne xx**


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